


Come Sail your Ships Around Me

by punkrockgaia



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is based on "The Ship Song" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. All the italicized stuff is lyrics from this song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Sail your Ships Around Me

_Come sail your ships around me, and let your bridges down._  
I shouldn't have let him in the front door.

_We make a little history, baby, every time you come around_  
It had been so long. SO LONG. I'd wanted... Needed... Pushed the feelings down, buried them in routine, respectability and domesticity. Avoided him, certainly. Saw the hurt in his eyes when I made my excuses and abandoned my cart in the middle of the Ralphs so that I wouldn't have to talk to him, a hurt that was a reverberation of old hurts from so long ago, of newer hurts barely healed. Sure, I caught hell for coming home without the groceries, but a man's got to do what a man's got to do -- namely, run away like a spineless coward.

_Come loose your dogs upon me, and let your hair hang down_  
And now he's here, and there's nowhere to run. He's on the divan next to me, his knee almost touching mine, turning his tape recorder over and over in fidgeting hands. I can see dampness where his flesh touches the silver plastic case, and his voice wavers when he speaks. 

_You are a little mystery to me, every time you come around_  
He's hard to read like this, opaque in his tension, carefully constructed walls obscuring his tender heart. He says he's here to interview me, to get comments for a story he's working on for the broadcast tonight. Maybe he believes that, or maybe it's an excuse, but it's not far into the "interview" before he turns off the tape and fixes me with watery eyes.

_We talk about it all night long, we define our moral ground_  
"I'm sorry, I just, uh. Just -- why?"

It's hard to speak, but I force enough air from my lungs to form words. "Cee, you know why. I mean, we are... You were... But things like we had can't last. I have people depending on me. Responsibilities. You know. And I'm happy, really, I... I am. Or, uh, not miserable, anyhow. Aren't you?" 

He's silent for a beat, then I see a flush rise on his cheekbones. "Stupid Cecil," he chides himself, voice dark. He dips his head, breaking eye contact. This is where I should stop things. This is where I should give him a pat on the back, tell him to buck up, kindly but firmly usher him out the door. He'll bounce back. He's resilient.

That's totally not what I do.

I lift his chin and kiss him.

_But when I crawl into your arms, everything comes tumbling down._  
I can tell myself that this is all unplanned, that I'd had no idea we'd... _collapse_ into each other like this, but deep in my mind I know that it was inevitable. The moment he'd shown up at the front door, it had begun. There were just the rituals of pretense to get through first, maybe a necessary air-cleansing, maybe my vain attempt to hold onto my self-image, maybe some sort of brain-fuck foreplay. Whatever it was, it collapses as abruptly as a drawbridge made of upholstered cushions. 

Cecil's mouth was wet and desperate on my lips, my neck, my collarbone. His body is always so hot, hot and smooth, like a glass jar half-buried in the sand wastes in the noonday sun. He scalds where he touches me, sears himself into my skin. I suck on his earlobe. He tastes like burnt caramel and salt. Delicious.

He's on my lap, slender hips moving against me, legs on either side of mine. My hands climb up his back, find beaky shoulderblades working underneath a sheath of cotton and linen. There's dampness under that shirt, sweat sweet and animal-scented. My gorgeous fucking animal. My Cecil.

And he is an animal, too. A beast. He howls, loud and feral, as I grind against him. He's obviously as desperate as I am now, giving me everything. Baby Cecil, baby darling, yes...

A flip, a shift of weight, and he's underneath me, caramel fingers trembling desperately against my fly. I help him undo it, then let him undo his own trousers. Mmm. He's hard against me. I'm hard. I'm so fucking hard. I'm the king of the motherfucking world. 

He bucks against me. He wants it so bad. I grit my teeth. I'm getting close with all his shoving and thrusting. Fucking Cecil. Mmmm... Uhhh...

He stops, suddenly. Stops touching me.

"Do you love me?"

_Your face is falling sad now, for you know the time is nigh when I must remove your wings and you must try to fly._  
"That's a stupid fucking question if I ever heard one."

Cecil, Gods above and below, don't cry, Cecil. Gods, all the Gods, I love you, please... He's crumbling. Shaking. My Gods, a vacuum has opened in him and he's crying and crumbling and shaking and all of a sudden this isn't fun any more... I hug him close, but he spasms and flings his arms and almost clocks me in the nose. Then he's running out the door.

_Come sail your ships around me, and burn your bridges down. We make a little history, baby, every time you come around._  
A month later, I hear about a perfect scientist with perfect hair and teeth like a military graveyard. Cecil, no.

_Come loose your dogs upon me, and let your hair hang down. You are a little mystery to me, every time you come around._  
Baby, please, you are mine. Please. Don't do this. I love you.


End file.
